


What would Jesus say

by TooRational



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: 3+1 Things, Badass characters, Getting Together, Jesus (Walking Dead) is a Little Shit, Kissing, M/M, Protective Daryl Dixon, Snarky Jesus, omg there's a tag for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 07:04:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12789360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooRational/pseuds/TooRational
Summary: Or: Three times Jesus says some shit, and one time he makes sense.





	What would Jesus say

**Author's Note:**

> Rating for language, as usual.

It took a while for Daryl to realize it, what with the war and torture and general PTSD, then rebuilding their communities and trying to cobble together a whole new civilization, then being distracted by the resident Hilltop ninja and getting distracted _about_ being distracted, what in the _holy hell,_ but--

Jesus is kind of a little shit.

It’s not the sarcasm. Daryl is very familiar with that one and it’s pretty impossible to miss. Jesus uses sarcasm the same way he uses his knives: as finely sharpened, precise, deadly tools. ( _Oh, you were very brave, staying in here while Sasha and Maggie saved this place. Your courage was_ inspiring _._ )

No, the problem is the quote-unquote ‘inspirational stuff’.

See, Jesus always says things that sound deep and zen, make you stop and think, shine a new light on something you thought you knew inside and out, all its frayed edges. It adds to his mystique, if you will, presenting the wise Jesus-like figure in spirit as well as in body. Being an avid reader with books stacked all over his trailer definitely doesn't help the situation, the well of quotes crammed into his brain that Jesus can pull out at the drop of a hat probably as deep as an ocean.

But sometimes there's something ever so slightly off about it. It’s like deep inside, Jesus is very quietly laughing at himself and everyone around him, getting the biggest kick out of the double meanings and the occasional useless piece of advice wrapped in fancy four-syllable words, all the while keeping a straight face and _somehow_ making those damn cow eyes of his look innocent.

Oh yeah, Daryl knows when Jesus is being a little shit, the signs are getting more and more familiar.

(He is very careful not to think about what that says of the amount of time he spends looking at Jesus; how well Daryl knows his face, his body, the way he moves.)

There is the very tiny squinting around Jesus' eyes; there’s the quick, flashing glance to the side; lips pursing in a split-second twitch; a gloved pointer finger scratching the edge of his jaw, or an eyebrow; a head-turn that results in his hair covering parts of his face; a roll of his shoulders; a specific position and shift of his feet -- and _oh crap_ , Daryl is no longer just in over his head, he is truly and completely _fucked_.

But Daryl is also right, he _knows_ he is.

...

_Ugh._

 

_1\. „_ _We're not far. From the Hilltop. We're far from somewhere else, I guess.“ / „Well, technically, we’re already here. I mean, we’re always here but here we are - at the Kingdom.“_

They're on a test run a few hours away from Alexandria, Daryl and Jesus taking Raina and William with them because sharing skills and knowledge between communities is now a priority, and they always need runners and scavengers.

Raina is a tall girl that reminds Daryl of Sasha - quiet and tough, a core of steel. She’ll be a good addition to any team once they teach her what they know.

William, on the other hand, is a dickhead of the highest order that can't do a single thing anyone tells him to without questioning it about seven times. They’re all beyond done with him at this point. Daryl has been planning to 'accidentally' shoot an arrow in his ass for close to three hours now, but luckily for William, Jesus intervened.

Kind of.

Jesus took one look at Daryl’s pissed-off face and narrowed eyes after the tenth inane comment William felt the _burning_ need to share with them (goddamn, the dude loves the sound of his own voice), raised a sneaky eyebrow at Daryl and _winked_ , and then proceeded to counter every single stupid question with an obvious and yet completely useless answer.

For _three. fucking. hours_.

Daryl doesn’t know if he wants to thank the little ninja or wring his neck alongside with William’s. (William he definitely just wants to kill.)

Daryl has so far heard, with his own damn ears, on this damn run that will _never end_ , numerous versions of the following exchanges:

_“Are you sure we’re going in the right direction?”_

_“Well, what makes a direction right or wrong depends on where you want to go, doesn’t it?”_

and

_“How much more until we get there?”_

_“Not too long, but I guess it depends on your definition of ‘long’.”_

and

_“Where are we now?”_

_“Are we talking physically, mentally, metaphorically, or spiritually?”_

and

_„What is this place?“_

_„It’s a mall / road / alley / apothecary / store, William. Keep up.“_

And neither of them would goddamn _quit it_!

It’s in turns painful, a bit less painful, slightly amusing, and (very, very rarely) downright hilarious.

And then suddenly it’s none of it – William not listening _yet again_ gets them all stranded in a dead-end alley with a zombie herd blocking the only exit.

„What the hell just happened?“ William spits out shakily from his spot in the corner, and Raina looks about ready to beat him to death with his own ripped off arm. She doesn’t because she’s _nice_ like that, just takes her frustration out on a walker that managed to shuffle through the bottleneck they’ve created.

„Are you talking about the string of bad decisions you made that lead us to be trapped in a dead-end alley with a herd of walkers closing in on us and no way out, or...?“ Jesus asks, sounding distracted with whatever he's rigging up at the dumpster they pushed to the entrance of the alley to slow the walkers down. „Because if I remember correctly, it went like this: Daryl said 'let's go' and you ignored him, I said 'not that alley' and you ignored me, Raina here said 'give me the gun' and you ignored her not one, not twice, but _three times_ , meaning that's three bullets we'll never get back.

“The real question, William,“ Jesus says calmly as he walks back to stand right in front of the cowering man, having finished with his contraption, „is 'why the fuck didn't you listen to us'?“

Thing is, Jesus is generally not someone you want to mess with. Even William with his pea-sized brain knows that. Jesus has a calm and generally friendly disposition, and managing to annoy him to the point of him actually calling you out? You _know_ you’re in deep shit.

Daryl snorts and mutters „fucking jackass“, then turns back to scanning his surroundings. He tries working the heights and angles, see if there’s _anything_ useful for them to--

Huh. There's no way he can do this, but Jesus…

„Hey, you two, keep 'em off us for a few minutes,“ Daryl snaps his fingers at Raina and William and points at the mouth of the alley. Miraculously, they go without a word of complaint from William (mostly because Raina drags him off by the back of his shirt with a hissed “shut up and walk” before he could open his mouth). „Jesus, c'mere, I got something.“

There's a fire escape ladder they could use to get to the roof and from there to adjacent buildings, but it’s way too far at the moment, almost 15 feet up. The dumpster is otherwise occupied or it'd probably be big enough to reach bottom rung.

It seems like someone is going to have to jump.

„Think you could reach that with a boost?“ Daryl squints up.

„Probably, but it'd have to be one hell of a boost. I'm talking cheerleader competition style lift and throw, Daryl. And I'm not as light as I look,“ Jesus warns, as if Daryl doesn’t know he’s all deadly, compact muscle underneath that leather duster. He carried the sneaky brat into Alexandria while he was faking being unconscious, he remembers the weight and feeling of it.

He also remembers Jesus doing far more crazy and stupid shit than this, like sneaking into the Sanctuary, or climbing out of a third floor window just so he could snoop around Alexandria, the asshole.

„Nothing else to try, man, it's this or fight our way through a herd at least a hundred feet deep.“

Honestly, if it were just him and Jesus, Daryl would pick the second option. He knows what he can do, he knows what _Jesus_ can do, he's pretty sure they'd make it. The two 'apprentices' are a problem, however, and there’s no way Daryl is leaving anyone behind, not if there's another way.

Jesus bites his lip, looking like he came to the same conclusion as Daryl. „Yeah, ok, let's do this,“ he says, taking off his coat.

Daryl bends his knees a bit, steeples his fingers together, and pauses when Jesus is in position, gloved hands on Daryl's shoulders and booted right leg in Daryl's hands.

„Don’t fall down and break your neck now,“ he half-warns, half-smirks. Jesus snorts out a quiet laugh while eyeing the distance for his jump.

“Don’t worry, Daryl, I wouldn’t leave you all alone with the kids. I’m not that cruel,” and he looks back at Daryl and smiles impishly, as if they aren’t about to try a stunt that could get him seriously injured or _dead_.

The realization of just how _glad_ he is to have this fearless, smart, snarky asshole in his life hits Daryl straight in the solar plexus. Jesus is annoying, and mouthy, and stubborn, and there’s no one else Daryl would rather do this with. There is nowhere else he’d rather be right now, walkers and all.

He wouldn’t change a single thing about this little prick, today’s endless mind-fuckery included, and _that_ is brand new information. Daryl didn’t realize he felt that way.

Some of what he’s thinking must be showing on his face because Jesus says, “…what?” curiously, holding his half-scrunched position as easily as if he’s part-goddamn-flamingo.

“Nothin’. Just be careful,” Daryl says, seriously this time. There is no universe in which he’ll let anything happen to Jesus, not on his watch. It’s unacceptable.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” Jesus nods. “On three.”

“One, two, three--”

 

_2\. „I think she's gonna shoot you. […] Yeah. She is.“_

Daryl is gonna get a damn heart attack and that little shit that calls himself Jesus is gonna be the cause.

_Holy fucking shit_.

About fifteen minutes ago Daryl started a short guard shift with Tara, their numbers stretched badly enough everybody has to pitch in. For some reason, out of profound boredom or whatever, Tara decided to tell him all about what happened when her group attacked the satellite-station compound a few months ago.

Namely, the _Saga of Saint-Fucking-Dumbass Jesus and the Creepy Definitely-Very-Dead Savior_ , or, _How the Fuck Didn’t Daryl Notice Much Sooner He Was_ This _Invested in the Ninja Asshole, This Can Only End Badly, Crap Shit Fuck_.

The title is a work in progress, fuck off.

~

The story started off normally, as these things do – there was distracting, breaking in, killing bad guys, all good.

Then…

~

**“…and so he’s like ‘no, we can’t shoot him, he surrendered’ and I’m going ‘what?! No way, Jesus, he’s obviously lying!’ but he wouldn’t listen….”**

Daryl knew Jesus was the one responsible for the hostages at Hilltop at the start of the war, but he never knew exactly how it happened. The communities never discussed what to do if someone surrendered since there was a not a lot of chance of that happening -- they specifically attacked the outposts where Negan’s _soldiers_ were, and planned to take out the maximum amount of people before a potential lockdown or reinforcements could be called. Casualties were expected to be basically 100%.

How Jesus managed to avoid that and not only complete the mission successfully, but have the _least_ amount of casualties out of all three strike teams is beyond Daryl.

Still, if anyone could pull that off, it’s Jesus. There’s no earthly force that can make him do anything he doesn’t want to.

A quote Daryl heard in some fancy superhero movie a long time ago, that for some stupid reason stuck in his brain all these years, comes to mind. It goes something like:

“Even if the whole world is telling you that something wrong is right, even if everyone tells you to move, you have to stand your ground, look them in the eye, and say, ‘No, _you_ move’.”

It kind of fits Jesus perfectly.

~

**“--somehow managed to grab Jesus and put a gun to his head! And he goes ‘I thought you’d be the softie, not pretty boy’ which- one, fuck you; and two, disgusting piece of shit--”**

Daryl is kind of sick of this story already. All the people in it are stupid, the bad guys are winning, and Jesus has a gun to his head.

The only light at the end of the tunnel is the inevitable gory death of pretty-boy-will-pull-your-spleen-out-through-your-nose Savior.

Also, putting a gun to any family member’s head is a once-only, kill-on-sight offence.

Sorry, Daryl didn’t make them rules.

~

**“And he’s all up behind Jesus talking shit, but Jesus is cool, waiting to ninja him--”**

The mental image Tara’s words paint is disturbing, and nauseating, and will probably remain stuck in Daryl’s head for the rest of the day, maybe longer.

Something stops him from thinking about it too hard, a vague feeling of nausea at the thought of unwanted hands touching… anything. Anywhere.

Especially Jesus.

~

**“--en he says ‘I think she's gonna to shoot you,’ and I _was_ , I really was, I was seconds away--“**

_But he had a gun to Jesus’ head._

That’s the only thought in Daryl’s brain right now.

_He had a_ gun _pressed to the side of Jesus’ head._

The guy could’ve blown Jesus’ brains out by complete accident.

You don’t mess with that, _what the hell_?!

Beth comes into Daryl’s mind, fierce and lovely one moment and limp and bloody the next. That was another accident, one that was paid for in full, but Beth was still gone. No one can undo that moment, just like no one could turn back time if the same thing happened to Jesus.

Why would you risk that? How _could_ you?

Daryl almost says all this out loud, shakes Tara to make her listen, to understand how unacceptable that would have been, Jesus anything but alive and whole.

But she’s already moved on, and Daryl needs to know what happened.

~

**“--he disarmed him in like three moves, it was pretty awesome to watch. Still wouldn’t kill him, though, I--“**

Wait.

…

_…what?!_

…

…

Daryl sighs heavily, presses the heels of his palms tightly against his eyes.

Yeah, sounds like Jesus. Once he’s made up his mind, it’s done. A minor thing like the guy he’s decided to save holding a gun to his head wouldn’t be enough to compromise his principles.

Daryl can probably find out if this dickhead Savior is dead, though. It shouldn’t be that hard. Dwight still owes him, will owe him _forever_ and until the end of time. He’d look the other way.

There’s no way Daryl is letting that waste of space keep breathing.

~

**“--and Jesus says ‘I know where they’re going’ so--“**

Of course Jesus knew where they were going.

Even though he was only at the compound once. In the middle of the night. Months ago. For a couple of minutes.

What, did he study some schematics at some point? Does he have the spatial awareness of a bat? Is he psychic? Did he sneak into the compound again between the two times, wander around like the sneaky little shit he is?

_How_ is it _possible_ for one man to get into _so much trouble_?

~

**“..en Diane told him that if they shoot one of us is dead, he says ‘Then let’s hope for my sake that they don’t’.”**

Daryl closes his eyes in despair. He can see it, clear as if he was there. Jesus probably stepped forward, too, so he’d be the first one to get _fucking shot_. Daryl knows how Jesus thinks by now: he figured the decision was his, the responsibility was his, and he should be the one to pay the price if needed.

Daryl isn’t even surprised by it anymore. As weird as it sounds, Jesus doesn’t value himself a tenth of how much he’s actually worth. Even without all the scavenging and the ninja skills and everything useful Jesus contributes to their communities, he’d still be incredibly precious because he’s _Paul_. He’s kind and smart and brave and a million other things, some irritating and confusing, but all of them _good_.

There’s a light inside of Jesus that shines brightly, constantly, warmly, and Daryl doesn’t get how people can’t see it.

It’s like a freakin’ beacon.

~

Tara gets called away to help with something-or-other right after a dramatic retelling of how Morgan lost it and left.

(Daryl will take the fact that both of them are alive and without permanent injury and call it good. Because if starts thinking about Jesus fighting Morgan during one of his violent episodes, he’ll probably go insane.)

There’s only one thing that can be done now.

If Jesus won’t take care of himself, Daryl will have to do it for him.

Daryl spends the rest of the shift planning how to make sure Jesus stays safe, whole, and alive for a very, very long time.

 

_3\. „Oh, right, I forgot to mention that--“ „Yeah, tiger.“_

Daryl is sitting on the trailer steps, watching a few Hilltop kids playing with yellow-and-white checkered kittens. Where they managed to find not only a cat but kittens in the apocalypse, he has no idea, but hopefully it won't end in tears and walker-kittens. That is some nightmare material right there.

It's a warm and breezy day, one of the regular 'resting days' they started having in an attempt at something close to normal, and almost everyone is opting for lazy lounging around over actually doing anything productive.

Jesus turns the corner from Barrington house and almost steps directly onto the kids but spins gracefully away at the last second, avoiding crushing any man- or animal-related babies. He crouches down and picks up a kitten that made a bid for freedom, waddling away on shaky little legs. The kids flock around him, babbling and petting the kitten he's still cradling in his palms. Jesus listens and replies, wide-eyed audience captivated by his smile.

There's something about his expression, the comical and obviously-fake surprise at whatever the kids are telling him at the moment, that rings a bell.

Jesus soon rises from his crouch, ruffles the kids’ hair, and continues walking purposefully toward his trailer.

( _Typical,_ a voice in Daryl's mind whispers, _Jesus has shit to do even when no one else does._ )

It's in that moment it clicks, Jesus ten feet from Daryl and closing in, and Daryl barks out, „You didn't forget about the tiger at all, did you, asshole?“ 

Jesus stops short, eyes wide in genuine surprise this time, mind obviously struggling to catch up.

And…

Yes, _right there_. That is a flash of guilt and tiny bit of pure _mischief_ in his eyes.

They look at each other like two gunslingers at high-noon, Daryl glaring as hard as he can and Jesus actually looking more and more worried by the second, and Daryl would really love to be able to keep this up but--

He dissolves into helpless laughter, rusty and hoarse, actually bending over with elbows on his knees and teary eyes.

„You complete _dick_ ,“ he gasps out.

He can only imagine what they all looked like to Jesus, clustered around the door and pissing themselves at seeing a real, live, 500-pound tiger just strolling around on a flimsy chain, bare thirty feet away, on a _stage_ with a _king_ and a _throne_ and a _royal guard_ , everyone acting as if it's completely normal. Hardened warriors, people that went through hell and back, almost immune to death and pain - utter shock and bewilderment on their faces.

Shit, it must've been priceless.

Daryl can't remember the last time he laughed like this, but it's been _years_. His stomach is still fluttering, sides aching after muscles long unused got a sudden exercise.

When he pulls himself together and looks up again, Jesus is standing in front of him with a sheepish smile on his face.

„Sorry, couldn't resist,“ Jesus shrugs, soft eyes the same color as the cloudless blue sky above him.

„S'alright,“ Daryl says, shaking off the last of his giggles, „Won't tell anyone.“

„That's very kind of you,“ Jesus says, overly-polite, and sits next to him on the steps.

“One condition, though,” Daryl says in a sudden fit of inspiration.

Jesus lifts his eyebrows in surprise but plays along: “Uh, sure, what is it?”

“You stop running around like a headless chicken all damn day and take a break.”

Daryl realizes what he said near immediately ( _he watches Jesus, he notices his habits, he wants to help, he cares about his wellbeing_ ) but by then it’s too late. It’s already out, Jesus heard it, and Daryl can now only stand his ground and hope this wasn’t a mistake.

Jesus’ momentary look of shock is replaced by a head-tilt and a bashful smile, which almost makes Daryl panic because he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with that, but it seems that Jesus know Daryl really well, too, and he’s back to being a little shit in a second.

“You do realize that means you have to entertain me?” Jesus raises an eyebrow at him, the look of false sympathy on his face ruined by a tiny smirk Daryl can’t help but notice.

“What? No way, man,” Daryl snorts.

“Sorry, them’s the rules,” Jesus says casually, raising his hands in a ‘what can you do’ gesture.

“Ugh, whatever,” Daryl says as he stands up, “But there’s no way I’m gonna stay here, my ass’ll go numb. I know a spot, c’mon.”

“Lead the way, Sherlock,” Jesus gestures with aplomb, and sniggers as Daryl pushes his face to the side gently in passing. Daryl’s fingers are itching to prolong the contact but he can’t. Not yet.

The afternoon is spent in a lazy sprawl on the grass beneath some semi-secluded tree, comfortable and content, the day one of the best Daryl’s had in recent memory.

 

+1. _“I always found it hard getting close to anyone…”_

In Daryl’s opinion, everyone at Hilltop is a can’t-find-their-ass-with-both-hands, isn’t-worth-the-space-they-take, should-be-shot-in-the-chest-with-rock-salt, fucking _shithead_.

Not Maggie and the rest of his family, they’ll always be family first and living at Hilltop second. But the rest of them, the ones who lived here before they came?

All shitheads. _All of them._

How the fuck do you keep letting one person ( _one_ ) be the only scavenger and recruiter that goes outside the walls? _How?_ It makes no goddamn sense. No matter how good a fighter he is, he is just one man. You don’t put that kind of pressure on one person, it’s nuts. He needs backup, not an endless fucking grocery list.

And don’t get Daryl started on the non-fighters that occasionally go out. They once sent their _doctor_ out, and even that completely batshit decision was probably only made because Jesus didn’t return when he was scheduled to.

It’s one of the reasons Daryl was so mistrustful of Jesus and Hilltop at the very beginning. His gut said yes, but he’s been burned before, and recently. And one man who can clearly handle himself and survive on his own? The only reason he wouldn’t be in a group or community already is if he’s trouble. Big-time trouble, the kind that outweighs any sort of contribution he could give.

The truth, apparently, is stranger than fiction in this case.

Why, for the love of all that is holy, don’t you integrate someone like that into your community? Spend time with him, put in some effort into getting to know him – ask for his preference in fucking _gummi bears_ , whatever, just don’t demand loyalty and hard work while giving nothing in return.

For literal _years_.

Why would an individual with a downright priceless set of skills feel like a part of community only after he met the Alexandrians?

You know why?

Because Daryl’s family isn’t _fucking shitheads_.

They know a good thing when they see it (Jesus, in this case), and they know that good people (skills aside) are very hard to find. And they welcome people like Jesus, embrace them, support them, make them a part of their family.

Daryl knows the one to blame for this is Gregory, with his toxic ‘you work for me’ attitude, like Jesus is a boot-licking lackey and not the only reason Hilltop keeps standing at all. Behavior like that spreads and infects everyone, and good people say nothing out of fear or because they think it wouldn’t change anything.

But that still doesn’t excuse any of it.

So Daryl somehow finds himself on a mission to correct every single thing these shitheads do wrong.

Within a few weeks, he tells off about eight people (the number would be higher but it spread pretty quickly that if you have a stupid supply run request for Jesus you’ll get an angry, stomping archer in your face minutes later); he stops people from waking Jesus up needlessly about thirteen times ( _for fuck’s sake_ ); he intercepts people with inane demands about sixteen times ( _no_ , wanting Jesus to keep an eye out for a specific cd is _not_ a good enough reason to track down the man when he’s eating for the first time in 48 hours, fuck off); he ‘accidentally’ takes his as well as Jesus’ supply run lists at least three times, bringing back the stuff himself; he even drags Jesus off into the woods for ‘help with a big-ass deer‘ once (and he’s never using _that_ excuse again, dear god, his head is still ringing with Jesus’ and Maggie’s laughter).

Truth be told, Daryl is getting a bit exhausted. How Jesus manages to handle all these people on a daily basis is a freakin’ mystery.

The fact that Daryl’s family notices all this and is quietly closing ranks around Jesus is a source of instant pride and much embarrassment. Maggie was the first, of course, even before Daryl himself, putting her trust in Jesus and making it clear to everyone he was her right-hand man and advisor. But the others are quick to catch up and even quicker to follow.

Their behavior is a source of amusement to Jesus, that much is obvious.  And he clearly appreciates the effort, no doubt about it, but there’s still this look in his eyes sometimes, that reminds Daryl of himself a few years ago. A lingering doubt, maybe a voice in his head wondering if he’s worth all this trouble. A worm of fear nagging at him that they all think he’s someone he’s not and will leave him behind once they figure it out.

Daryl asks point-blank one night, while they’re sitting in the window seat of the lookout on top of Barrington house, the moon shining so bright they can see for miles.

“Why’d you let ‘em treat you this way, man?”

Jesus is silent for a long time.

“It’s not… I saw a way to help and I just _did_. It never felt like something they pushed me to do, or demanded of me. I just… couldn’t _not_. They’re good people, mostly. Kind and hardworking.”

Daryl doesn’t give a shit how kind and hardworking they are, sucking the life out of one member of the community so the rest can live a safe and risk-free life is bullshit. But he doesn’t want to interrupt.

“Meeting you all, your family… I guess I just didn’t know it could be like that.” Jesus turns to him, a small frown on his face, “Does that make any sense?”

It does, very much so. Sympathy and protectiveness swell in Daryl’s chest.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Don’t mean it’s gotta continue like this.”

Jesus smiles at him and nudges his shoulder against Daryl’s in line of heat that Jesus’ flimsy cotton shirt can’t hide.

“Well, keep up the glaring and the stomping around and soon no one will dare even talk to me,” Jesus mock-whispers as if in confidence.

Daryl can feel his cheeks heating up and clears his throat, “Noticed that, huh?”

“Kinda hard to miss. It’s really sweet, though,” Jesus says, staring somewhere into the night with a tiny curl to his lips. It fades far too rapidly, the curl and the fondness, replaced by a faint frown.

“Can’t remember the last time someone stood up for me,” he murmurs so quietly Daryl wonders if he was meant to hear it at all.

_I would have_ , Daryl thinks. Whether he needed it or not, even if Jesus got mad at him for being overprotective. Daryl would stand in front of a walker herd for him, without any hesitation; walk blind into any situation on his word alone.

This feeling growing inside him is becoming unbearable.

A light pressure at his side is all the warning Daryl gets as Jesus rests his head cautiously onto his shoulder, as if testing the waters. Daryl uses all his willpower not to tense up because this is something he _wants_ , almost desperately, even if he could never make himself say it out loud.

He is soon rewarded with a heavier weight against him, both of them relaxing gradually, muscle by muscle.

A few long, calm minutes later, Jesus slides his hand under Daryl’s until they’re palm to palm, entwining their fingers.

“It’s ok,” he murmurs, thumb stroking the cigarette scar-riddled skin, “I promise we can forget about this in the morning. Just let me stay here for a little while, please.”

Jesus looks peaceful for the first time since… since Daryl’s known him, actually. No run to go on, no mission to complete, no impending task to take care of. Nothing to think or plan or worry about.

It’s almost weird, seeing Jesus so still and serene. Is this what it looks like when Jesus has no troubles on his mind? No conflicts to resolve, no problems to solve?

…is this the first time it happened in god knows how long?

Determination ignites and sweeps through Daryl like a flame.

_Fuck it._

Fuck all the problems and missions, fuck the fears and the hesitation, fuck worrying about what’s gonna happen tomorrow, fuck anyone who’s gonna say anything, and most of all, _fuck_ forgetting about this -- just _fuck all of it_.

If this is what it takes for Jesus to feel better, if by some miracle _Daryl_ of all people can make his life a tiny bit easier, and lighter, and brighter, then he’ll spend the rest of his days doing that.

“Hey,” Daryl croaks out, and Jesus lifts his head, pulls away with a sigh.

Daryl doesn’t say anything, can’t push the words out past the knot in his throat. Instead he tightens his grip on Jesus’ hand and moves closer, watches carefully for a reaction.

Wide eyes and a tight answering grip on his hand tell him everything he needs to know, and Daryl’s heart kicks its already frantic rhythm up another notch.

Closing the last few inches of space between them takes every single shred of courage Daryl has left, but he does it.

Eyes closed, Daryl learns that Jesus’ lips -- that _Paul’s_ lips are soft. And warm. And gentle, curios, smiling. Daryl learns the shape of that smile, the curve of Paul’s upper lip, the plumpness of his lower one. How it feels to close his teeth around that plumpness lightly, run his tongue along the chapped surface. He learns what sounds Paul makes when Daryl opens his mouth on an inhale and their tongues meet for the first time, the touch sending a jolt through both of them.

He learns he can kiss Paul for a very long time and never have his fill, lips and hands like magnets, always coming back for more. Having Paul so close is intoxicating, all senses amplified so much it makes Daryl’s head buzz with white noise.

Paul’s hand settles gently against Daryl’s cheek and he pushes closer still, kisses growing deeper, smoother and practiced.

A brief tangle of limbs later and Paul is on Daryl’s lap, pressed up tight against him. Daryl’s face is cradled in Paul’s hands, Daryl’s hands sliding over Paul’s thighs restlessly, and the urgency kicks up a notch.

Daryl learns more things, like the vibration of Paul’s moan on his lips when Daryl mouths at the side of his neck, the feeling of stifled giggles running through Paul’s body when his hands brush against his sides. He wants to know _everything_ , all the little things Paul does, all the sounds and reactions he can pull from him, all the ways he can make him sigh and go pliant. It’s greedy and selfish, but Daryl _wants_ this, _needs_ it so very badly.

Daryl’s arms wrap around Paul’s waist to bring him closer, and ever the contrary little prick, Paul pulls back slightly. He grins at Daryl’s grumpy frown, crooked and breathless, fingers trailing over Daryl’s cheeks and to the back of his neck, tangling in his hair.

They take a couple of minutes to calm down, foreheads together and small kisses exchanged in random patterns. Paul’s thumbs are rubbing Daryl’s scruffy cheeks while Daryl’s hands map out  Paul’s back from shoulder to waist, skin on skin a way better high than any drug.

“Well, cross that off the list of ways to calm down before going to bed,” Jesus smirks, “I’ll need to double my usual yoga routine tonight.”

Daryl pinches his side and swallows the answering yelp of laughter with another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus:
> 
> “I just don’t think this is going to work out, Jesus. In a few months we’ll have to think of something else to fix it, _again_.”
> 
> „Well, nothing is permanent except impermanence, I guess. In that sense you’re right…“
> 
> Daryl, from a distance: “Jesus, _I swear to god_!”


End file.
